


Conversations Among The Flowers

by Bluerain1984



Series: Strangers in a Strange Land [3]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Damien tries too hard, Flirting, Fluff, Loads of cursing, M/M, Mostly cause Robert, Skin to Skin touch, Tea, Their brand of flirting, Though Lucien deals oregano, Two dorks trying to play it cool, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 09:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11666235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluerain1984/pseuds/Bluerain1984
Summary: '“Victorian culture,” Damien said, “Was built around discretion and civility. In public, people had to be polite, courteous, saying only what was considered ‘appropriate’ for company. To get their true intentions across to their friends and loved ones, they needed other methods. Sometimes that was achieved through letters, poems, songs. But the most common method was through flower language.”“That right?” Robert asked.'





	Conversations Among The Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> A proper sequel! I hope you all enjoy. See you after the story.

The first letter was left in his mail box, apparently. But Robert never checked the damn thing, honestly, because, aside from a collection notice or two, no one bothered writing him for any reason. So, when two envelopes were left on his truck’s window, he was confused. Then pleasantly surprised, after reading the letters.

The older letter, which he read second, was cordial in tone. Proper. Something some artsy-fartsy person did when they wanted to make an impression:

_‘My Dear Friend, Robert,_

_I must again thank you for your assistance after my rather shameful display. I also must thank you for bringing Betsy for a walk. She is, in a word, delightful, and I hope she will remain a constant companion. If I may be so bold to ask, would you come to my home this Thursday at noon, for tea, as gratitude for your abundant generosity? I await your answer with anticipation._

_Sincerely, D. Bloodmarch’_

The second letter, which he read first, was in the same flowing script as the first, but it was clear he’d accidently hurt Damien’s feelings:

_‘To Mr. Small,_

_I confess a certain amount of confusion when I did not hear from you about the tea I’d invited you to. And a great deal of disappointment when neither a reply, nor an appearance on the day, came. I had wondered if I had offended you, or if your brief show of goodwill had been given in pity or charity. I had even penned a letter of displeasure at your silence, but when I discovered my first letter, unopened in your post box, I realized my error. I hope this time my letter will reach you. I, again, ask that you come to tea, this week on Friday. I’ll be awaiting your answer, at your earliest convenience._

_Regards, D. Bloodmarch.’_

Damn. Damien took this stuff seriously. Robert sighed. He folded the clean, probably expensive stationary up, put both letters into a drawer, and got his phone out. He started hitting up Dadbook to answer him, but stopped. Damien seemed to prefer writing stuff by hand. Part of that ‘Victorian Gothic’ thing he was all about. After considering that, he grabbed the cleanest sheet of paper he could find to write back.

_‘Damien,_

_Sorry that I didn’t answer you. I don’t use my mailbox. Tea sounds good. I’ll be there._

_Robert’_

It wasn’t fancy, and he sure as hell wasn’t sealing it with wax, but he’d written. He figured it would work, wouldn’t it? He folded it up, made the walk over to Damien’s house, and left the letter. He didn’t have much else to do for the three days till then, but it gave Robert time to consider how he’d fix the massive fuckup he’d unwittingly committed. As he passed Betsy, he said, “Time for me to do a little research, girl.”

* * *

 

Three days, and lots of trips to the library and too many searches on his phone later, Robert was standing at Damien’s house. He’d showered (still a new thing, getting more regular with it), combed his hair, and even shaved. He wore his usual jacket and jeans, but today he had actually put effort into his appearance by tossing on a button-up shirt. Black, given where he was heading. In his arm he carried a brown bag, and inside of that was a bottle of wine. It was a good gesture to bring a gift, he’d read. He knocked on the door, and waited for the answer. As he did, he turned his head to look at some of the house. He remembered all the times he’d seen contractors and carpenters coming and going from the place, adding new features and restructuring the bones of the cookie-cutter, 50’s style house to become a neo-Victorian, with all the makings of a great horror movie set. Actually standing on the porch, he couldn’t help but see the care and the work that’d gone into the outer structure.

The door opened at last, and Damien’s kid… Lucien, right?... Little drug-peddling punk, was standing there. The teen turned his bleached head and shouted, “DAD! Your date’s here!”

Oh, the plot thickens. Damien appeared down the stairwell, just in sight of the door. Jesus, the man looked good again; he had on the red suit. Robert had seen that red suit now and then and it never disappointed, especially with the matching cape that was, honestly, just an inversion of his usual one. It was the way the suit fit around Damien’s broad shoulders, emphasizing the width, and the clean lines that clung to his ass, that Robert truly appreciated.

Damien laughed softly. “Lucien, son, it isn’t a date. We’re just having tea. Which you are still welcome to join, naturally.”

“No thanks,” the kid said, “I got stuff to do.” The kid looked up at Robert, and added, “Besides, I’m a witness. I can identify him in a lineup if he does something.”

“Lucien!” Damien shouted in a scolding tone. Robert grinned. The kid knew his stuff.

“I can always use blackmail, Kid, to keep you quiet,” Robert returned to the boy as he stepped over the threshold. Lucien went through the door once Robert was inside.

“If I see blood on the carpet, old man, it’s on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Robert liked the kid already.

Damien’s son left them, and the two men stood silently for about two straight minutes. Damien looked nervous. Well, Robert supposed he was, too. He cleared his throat, first to break the silence, and handed the bag over.

“Here. Brought you, uh…a gift.”

“Oh?” Damien said, his voice lilting in a question at the end. “You did! Thank you.” He took the offering and pulled the bottle out enough to read the label. “My, that’s…a surprising vintage.”

“White zinfandel’s the food of the gods, right next to a bottle of Jack,” Robert told him as he stepped a little further into the house. It was all dark reds or black or purple everything, and oil paintings on most of the walls. “You really did a lot in here, didn’t you?”

“Ah, yes,” Damien said as he set the wine down on a nearby hutch, and walked just slightly ahead of Robert. “It’s been my greatest project. And now it is complete. A true, grand abode for one to call home.”

“It’s nice,” he said aloud. He did not add it was perfect for a ghost hunt, or summoning something. He wouldn’t ruin this with his brand of morbid humor. Or at least try. “So, um, tea?”

“Of course,” said Damien. The younger man gestured to a room at the left. “In here. If you found the front entry fascinating, Robert, I assure you, my sitting room is far superior in design. You see, the mantle….”

The next thirty minutes of Damien’s talk on his home reno was mostly in one ear, out the other for Robert. He got it, the place took a lot of time and money to turn into the Munsters', but he couldn’t deny that he thought the absolute joy on the other man’s face while talking about it was cute. And the actual tea of the tea-time wasn’t bad either. He didn’t care for the all-veg spread, but the scones were good as hell. And they didn’t taste like they came from a box, either. Dames had Joseph beat on that shit. After eating, Damien led him through the house toward the back door of the dwelling.

“Along with the structure of my home,” Damien sad as he approached the door, “I had to make sure that I possessed a garden of unequal grandeur. Victorians kept lovely walking gardens, when they could. It was only natural that I have one.”

The door opened, and Robert paused. It was like that moment in ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ when Judy Garland’s Dorothy went from her dingy, black and white Kansas farm house into the blinding, Technicolor Munchkin Land. Reds, blues, greens, bright-ass yellows popped everywhere! He stepped out, and almost expected tons of little people in over the top costumes to start singing at him.

“Damn,” was the most eloquent thing Robert could say about it right then.

Damien somehow seemed to translate his awe into the compliment Robert had meant to make by laughing and saying, “Yes, it’s quite a sight. A labor of love. I’ve collected the best and loveliest of blooms for it.” While Damien was touting his success on the garden, he continued walking out into the sun-kissed landscape. Robert followed, and while he was listening still, he turned his head occasionally to look at each of the plants and occasional statues. “Victorian culture,” Damien said, “Was built around discretion and civility. In public, people had to be polite, courteous, saying only what was considered ‘appropriate’ for company. To get their true intentions across to their friends and loved ones, they needed other methods. Sometimes that was achieved through letters, poems, songs. But the most common method was through flower language.”

“That right?” Robert asked.

“Yes,” Damien confirmed.  “Everyone’s familiar with Roses being for love, but they weren’t really the preferred way of stating such for the Victorians. They liked carnations and tulips more. Why, Conversation Bouquets were common things to bring to friends. Every flower has a meaning behind it.”

“All of ‘em?”

“All of them.”

Robert stopped, and looked. He pointed. “That one?”

Damien looked toward Robert’s pointing. “Red carnations: ‘Admiration’, or ‘My heart aches for you’.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. He walked past Damien to another flower plot and pointed. “These?”

“Gardenias. ‘Secret Love’”

Robert was having fun. Most of the flowers were either in big bushes or large clusters. He wanted to test Damien. See if he meant it about the meaning thing, or if he was making it up. He looked around and finally spotted some that just seemed to be lower in the ground. Looked like filler stuff everyone shoves onto their lawns, to Robert, but he crouched down near the plant. “What about these?” he asked. Damien smiled at him.

“Ah, Sweet Williams. ‘Gallantry’”

“No shit?” Robert asked. “These things?”

“True, they aren’t as grandiose as a Tulip, perhaps, but they do have their place in a proper garden. And they are meant to express admiration for one’s gallantry.”

Robert grinned. He knew what he was about to do might be risky. He didn’t know if Damien would freak out about it, since he seemed as intense about gardening as he was about everything else in his house. But, hey, gotta make an impression: Robert plucked a Sweet William, stood up, and crossed to Damien. Standing in front of his host, Robert put the flower in his front pocket. The magenta-white-and-black of the flower didn’t quite go with the rest of Damien’s red suit, but at least he got it in the pocket right.

“Yeah,” Robert said. “I can see that workin’.”

He looked at Damien’s face, gauging his reaction. Bingo-baby! The other man’s pale face erupted in a bright red blush.

“I- I- y-yes,” Damien stammered. “Yes, that’s… about right.”

Robert chuckled, and lifted his hand up to look at his watch. “Well, Dames, it’s been somethin’, but I got someplace to be.” He really didn’t, but he wanted to make a good exit, and this was the best time for it. As he started back toward the house, Damien whirled on the stone pathway.

“Oh? So soon? I- I thought perhaps we could take a moment in my library.”

Robert kept walking on through the house, back the way they’d come, with Damien on his heels.

“Maybe next time,” Robert said, sticking his hands in his jacket’s pockets. Don’t look back: be cool. He was almost at the door and reaching for the knob when Damien grabbed at the back of his jacket.

“Robert, before you go, please! A moment,” Damien asked. Robert turned to look at him.

“What?”

Damien’s dark brows furrowed, and then he looked down towards their feet. “I…I wanted to thank you.”

“You’ve done that,” Robert said.

“Not just for the other night,” Damien clarified. “For…For this, too. For coming today. I know we all get along quite nicely at neighborhood functions, and the children of the cul-de-sac all socialize well enough. But… hard as it may seem, I’m not one to make friends easily.”

Robert raised one of his brows. “No. No kiddin’.” He didn’t mean to come out sounding like an ass, but that was a huge understatement, and even he knew that.

“I also know, from observation that, you’re the same,” Damien continued. That made Robert’s grin drop a bit. “You’re an intensely private man. You extend your friendship to few. I’m…I’m honored that you would offer it to me.” At that part, Damien’s eyes lifted up. The look was just...

“God damn it,” Robert muttered. This man was going to be his downfall. He knew it. He took one step closer to Damien, since they were already standing very near, and hooked his arm around the other man’s wide shoulders. He leaned in close, his brown eyes focusing on eyes altered by contact lenses. “You don’t know half of what your worth, do you realize that?”

“I- I beg your pardon?” Damien asked, confused.

“I don’t make a lot of friends because most people are assholes, liars, or out for themselves,” Robert told him. “Everyone’s got an angle, and everyone wants something from someone. For a long time, if I showed up at neighborhood stuff, it was ‘cause of Mary. She was the only person in this place I actually liked until my buddy next door showed up. And Mary thinks the moon shines out of your ass.”

“What?” Damien’s voice was practically a squeak.

“You’ve known her longer, Dames, so you probably know more about her. But from what I know about Mary, she’s harder to make friends with than I am… But she thinks you’re great. She talks about you a lot…So, there’s something good about you that keeps her sane.” Though they were already touching, his shoulder to Damien’s, his arm around him, Robert leaned in closer still until their foreheads touched. Proper skin on skin. He lowered his eyelids. “You can try to pull off this Prince of Darkness thing, Dames, but you’re…. Somethin’…Pure, I guess. Somethin’ good. I’m the one who should be surprised at you wantin’ anything to do with me.” He opened his eyes again, pulling his head away enough to see Damien properly. God, that look, again. The same one that made his heart hurt. Made him want to go down on his knees, right there, or shove him against a wall. He could kiss him, now. They were close enough, they were alone in the house; he could tip his head in just a little and have their mouths together, his tongue shoved between those lips, he could—

 _Take it slow. Don’t fuck this up, moron_ , he thought to himself.

Robert finally slid his arm off Damien’s shoulders, feet moving backward to the door. “Hit me up when you wanna hang out again. You like graveyards, right?”

Damien, who had been still and mostly silent during Robert’s confession before, cleared his throat before speaking. “Yes! Yes, I find them lovely and calming.”

“Then next week we’re meetin’ at the graveyard. Bring a flashlight and somethin’ to eat. I’ll show you how I have fun.” He winked at Damien, turned, and showed himself out. He didn’t look back. He could feel his cheeks hurting from the smile he had on his face. Nice and steady, boy. Take it slow.

* * *

 

 Damien’s veins felt like they were on fire. He wondered how he could still be standing and not prone on the floor after that encounter. While Robert's words had been sweet, some of the kindest he’d heard since Damien had started forming a kinship with their neighbor, it was Robert’s…intimate touches that had him reeling. Though it was but their foreheads, the skin to skin contact had him flushed. The mere memory of feeling Robert’s arm around him was overwhelming… And for a moment he’d been sure the older man was going to kiss him! Sure of it, wanting it, disappointed when he didn’t, yet glad that he hadn’t.

Damien leaned against a nearby credenza, and loosened his cravat until he could feel air on his neck. He took several breaths to steady himself. He placed his hand to his chest, and felt the soft sensation of…Oh. The flower. He took the Sweet William out of his pocket, and looked at it. Gallantry. Gallantry, indeed, among other things. Damien placed the bloom back in his pocket and ran toward his library. He’d need to pen something right away! And begin his consideration on a bouquet. Sweet Williams, most certainly! Gardenias, maybe? What else? Oh! Of course!

“Cattleyas,” Damien sighed. “Cattleya orchids. Mature charm and gallantry; brilliant!” This would be his best arrangement. He knew it in his bones!

**Author's Note:**

> No offense was meant towards the talented men and women who played Munchkins in 'The Wizard of Oz', but I'm sure loads of people would feel that kind of fantasty-esque wonderment if they went from the set of a Gothic Horror film into a super colorfurl garden. At any rate, I hope this piece has sated further needs for more about these two men. I sort of wanted to paralell but also differ from the game's 'Dadsona/Damien Date 1' thing, since it seems tea and a garden stroll are Damien's signature 'first date' ideas, but I also wanted it to be unique to Robert. He puts in a little effort, honestly, when he wants to take something further. 
> 
> Anyway, that's all for now! Again, comments/critiques are encouraged. Kudos are loved. Check me out on justthefangir.tumblr.com if you want to follow me, know more about me, or send me any asks about my stuff. Ta-ta!


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